Bovicide, Zombie Diaries, and the Legend of the Brothers Brown

by Stephen Bills

  Chapter Twelve: On the Hunt

  The night was gruelling. Most of the Team slept less than four hours and Mitchell slept none. There was no hint of Tanner and no one visited her house. When Mitchell arrived at the police station at eight o’clock, Sergeant Paddington was already at her desk, eyeing paperwork. Did she ever do anything else?

  “Message for you,” Mrs Paddington said, holding out a slip of paper. Mitchell took it.

  Your communication problems are nothing to do with me and given your conduct toward Mayor Baldwin last night, I shall view your presence on my land as trespassing and respond accordingly.

  Sincerely, Duke Andraste.

  How had he pissed off this whole island? He was just doing his job; didn’t they understand that? No matter; the duke was off limits for now. He’d leave confronting Andraste until they’d tried everything else or there was a mob chasing them with flaming torches.

  Which would be about lunchtime, the way they were going.

  Detective Constable Paddington arrived at nine o’clock, followed by a keg-shaped monkey in a police uniform that pushed past Mitchell and swept all of McGregor’s books and equipment off his desk into the rubbish bin.

  “Lovely,” Mitchell said. “Very welcoming.”

  “You haven’t exactly endeared yourself to our citizens.” Dark rings surrounded Paddington’s eyes: he’d probably spent the night wrestling with his conscience or fretting about whether Miss Tanner had been captured yet. Best up the pressure, see if he burst.

  “We’d best find your girlfriend and go, then,” Mitchell said.

  “So you haven’t found her yet?” Paddington asked, pouring himself a cup of tea.

  “It’s only a matter of time.”

  Paddington seemed calm, even cocky. Interesting. Had Tanner been smuggled off-island already?

  “And I expect your full cooperation, detective,” Mitchell added.

  “Of course.” Paddington drank his tea. “We can’t have an animal like that running loose. This time it was cows and sheep. Who’s to say it won’t be people next?”

  “I completely agree. Which is why I ordered my men to shoot on sight and sort it out via autopsy.”

  “What?”

  Mitchell waited. Would Paddington crack?

  Paddington’s mouth flapped open and shut. “What about stunning her?”

  “Didn’t bring darts,” Mitchell said. “Can’t contact London to stock up. And I can’t risk her hurting anyone else.”

  After another second, Paddington sighed. “Well, you’re the experts. I’ll trust your judgement.” He looked sincere, not that it mattered: Mitchell couldn’t trust him. Not when he’d had both motive and opportunity to betray him.

  Paddington finished his tea and placed the handmade mug beside the kettle. World’s Best Son was written artistically on the side and bits of it were cracked or worn smooth from many years of use. Not the mug Mitchell would have expected for a perfectionist poser like Paddington.

  “I assume the others are already out looking for Lisa?” Paddington asked.

  “They are,” Mitchell said. The others were also asking the townspeople awkward questions about Paddington. Who were his close friends? Where would he hide Tanner? So far, all they’d learned was that the detective was almost as despised as the Team.

  “Come on then,” Paddington said.

  Their first stop was the city market and its associated rumour mill. No one would answer Mitchell and few answered Paddington, which confirmed the Team’s information: Paddington had no friends with whom to hide Tanner. Mitchell couldn’t even imagine the sergeant helping her son out. She wasn’t the maternal-instinct type. Not within the last decade, if the mug was anything to go by.

  After three hours of fruitless questioning, they met up with the others for lunch. No one had any leads. Truman said they should follow up on the prophecy. Monkey-Constable Appleby said that helping Mainlanders find a Mainlander wasn’t his job. Sergeant Paddington said her son must attend to his regular duties for a few hours and ignored all further discussion.

  The Team set off again, widening their search from Lisa Tanner to anyone unexpectedly absent: somewhere was the werewolf that had bitten Tanner and they needed to catch it too.

  Mitchell would. He’d find them both, even if he had to raze the whole island to do it.